Seriously, unless she can "transform" me into a combination taco truck/bitchin' Camaro I don't really think I need her services.

That's interesting. I've never made the connection before, but I've slept nude all my adult life and I've never had one either. Score one for freely respiring squirrels!

No, strangely enough it was for a recreation of a set of classic movie star promotion stills using plus-size models. I had done Elizabeth Taylor —a fit because our coloring was identical— and their Jayne Mansfield had backed out on them and I guess they thought with the right hair and makeup I could do her too. I was…

My thoroughly repressed Anglican great grandmother, a grand dame who didn't believe in female orgasms and wore a corset every day until she was 95, told me it was important to sleep nude because —and I shall never forget this phrase— "You must let the squirrel breathe."

Back when catwalking dinosaurs roamed the earth and I was a model, I had to have my naturally nearly black hair bleached platinum blonde for a shoot. Why they couldn't just use a wig —which would've been cheaper and less time-consuming— is beyond me. They offered extra cash if I let them bleach my hair. I was 22 and…

Right? I have a pet theory that women (celebrities and normies alike) will wear lovely clothes, spend ages on their makeup and then comb their hair with an angry dachshund because they're afraid of looking too put together, like maybe it's too much pressure or they feel they can't carry off a more sophisticated look…

I need an audiobook to fall asleep, too. It used to make my fella insane until I got the Audible app on my iPhone and accidentally put it under my pillow.

Most of my shoes are in the $200-$400 range. The lower end of that is about what I expect to pay for a beautiful, well-made leather shoe crafted in a country with acceptable-to-me labor laws, but I do have a handful that've hit the $1000 mark. Personally the only time I'll shell out that much for a pair of shoes is if…

That's precisely what I thought, too. "Why don't you wash your blonde child's hair in champagne?" and that sort of thing. Fun and whimsical when DV did it, but tone deaf (and horrifying!) now, and I'm saying that as someone who once used an Hermès Hores et Dies scarf as a laundry bag.

UGH. The purposefully short-term guy I shared my virginity with scratched my leather party pants (1998 represent!) and I'm STILL bitter about it. In fact I remember nothing about the sex, and everything about the pants.

Ah! Force-cuddling is the worst thing in the history of time! My boyfriend does this to me. I mean I live with you, I have sex with you AND I engage in voluntary conscious cuddletime and all I want in exchange is to be left to enjoy the cool side of the bed while I sleep. WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?